You Punched the Bursar
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: The scene in which Alexander punches the Princeton University bursar.


_**Soli Deo gloria**_

 **DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Hamilton the Musical or any of the likenesses of the historical characters portrayed in this story. Please note that this is so historically _inaccurate_ that it isn't even _funny_! This is just meant as a story. :)**

Pure excitement displayed itself to its fullest on the face of nineteen-year-old Alexander Hamilton. He'd been in New York City harbor for all of half an hour, and already he was half-drunk on the intoxicating sights of this fair city. Sure, all he'd gotten a taste of were the dirty, wind-beaten warehouses and offices off the harbor and the workmen with their heads half-bowed, but oh, freedom! Oh, the land of America! How sweet was the salty, briny scent of the water! It was the same as of the ocean he'd been sailing on for some months, but he knew it was different. This was the water off New York City!

The rest of the passengers couldn't understand his excitement. As the third-class passengers limped and wobbled down the plank to the wooden dock, they cast this youth concerned looks. How could he be so, when they'd just spent weeks and weeks below deck, ingesting hard bread and old, gross water from the barrels around them, in cramped quarters? How could he be so?

Alexander's face hurt from the smile that stretched it out. It wouldn't be removed, and he didn't intend to set about removing it. Instead, he hurried down the old plank, both his hands containing all his bagged earthly possessions; he was the first of the slow, wobbly crowd to hit the solid land of New York first. "New York City," he breathed. He took a few more steps and discovered that even his excitement couldn't overcome the stumble he had; he still had his sea legs.

Still, he laughed and almost skipped ahead. He almost fell down as well.

There stood a crowd to welcome the ship. There were relatives of passengers waiting to welcome them on visits or to welcome them home from business. There were merchants, impatient to see their goods brought upon this ship. There were other businessmen, all ready with carriages, to take rich people to wherever they wanted to go in all of Manhattan. These all stood back from Alexander, fearing he was half-drunk.

He eagerly went up to one of the men anyway. This man, bald of head save the three-angled hat he wore, appraised the young man, and earnestly hoped he would move on. Unless, of course, he wanted a ride. He asked Alexander cautiously, "Seeking a ride to an inn, mate? I am in the confidence of the best inns that New York City has to offer."

"Do you know where everything is?" Alexander asked.

The man nodded deeply.

Alexander exclaimed, amazed, "In this _whole city_?!"

"I have lived in this city for the entirety of my life, sir. If I hadn't a knowledge of its geography, I must've been a dull student," the man said.

"Oh, excellent! Please, good sir, tell me where I might find the financial office of Princeton University?" Alexander asked eagerly.

The man looked at him for a long moment, searching him over. Had he hit his head when he was tossed at sea? "That's a good two days' journey from here. It's in Jersey." The man, still in some sort of confounded disbelief, told Alexander the highway roads he'd have to take. The entire time he cautiously examined Alexander's face. He saw no shock or surprise from him; just mere acceptance, and a thousand gears turning and clanking like a clock in his head.

Once finished, the driver asked, "Did you want me to take you there, sir? Off now, we should reach there 'bout noon day after tomorrow."

Alexander shook his head, "A kind offer, but I haven't the funds to warrant your service, good man." He gripped his bags more strongly, cast one loving glance around his first sight of America, and then said, "I can make it in one and one half days. I thank you for your time. Now, excuse me, sir." His face shone. "I have a few miles to walk."

The driver watched him with open-mouthed disbelief as this determined young man sped away; "'A few miles?' He's got sixty!" Then the driver muttered, "Took up my time and let all the rest of the passengers slip away on other carriages! And not a single shilling to show for it! I hope he doesn't get in! He won't be able to, given that he 'hasn't the funds to warrant their service!'"

* * *

A rap on the door alerted the bursar of Princeton University. "Raddle?" he said.

George Raddle, the bursar's assistant, came in from the foyer of the office. He bowed respectfully to the bursar and said, "How can I be of service, Mr. Bennington?"

Mr. Bennington removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. "Have I an appointment set for this afternoon, Raddle, or did not I ask that I have no visitors, so I might work upon the bookkeeping of my office?"

"It was the latter, Mr. Bennington. I too heard the knock on the door. I fear I have left the visitor upon our doorstep. Should I allow him in, even though according to your schedule we have no reason to suspect someone to see you?"

"Yes, Raddle. Show him in, ask him of his business. Perchance he is simply looking for directions to the nearest tavern, or wondering where the parties are held in this town," Mr. Bennington rambled. He scratched at his big white wig and groaned, old and tired of the youth of this town. And it was just the summer. The fall term would not even begin until the first of September.

Raddle obeyed his master; he opened the door to reveal that this was no ordinary visitor upon Bennington's doorstep. Before him was a youth of slight but sturdy stature, though very lean. His eyes were bright, his demeanor eager; his ragged clothes were of late fashion, and dusty, as if from some journey. Upon the dirty ground of Ninth Street were two worn bags rather riddled with holes and travel; in the youth's bare hands were newspapers that had been thoroughly read through. The youth crumpled the long scroll of the newspaper tighter in his hand and stood up straighter. "Is this Princeton University's bursar's office?"

"It is, and may I ask who is it that is inquiring about it?" Raddle asked.

A bright smile displayed itself quite handsomely on the youth's face. "Oh, yes, I've found it! You wouldn't believe me if I told you how many people I've asked directions from to get here. There are so many Americans around here who are nothing but helpful. On the road, I often had companions who walked a ways with me, or gave me a ride, and I've gotten nothing but excellent news of Princeton, and exciting news about a revolution sweeping the nation—they want to separate from Britain! The gathering in Philadelphia is nothing but astounding—"

"The bursar, Mr. Bennington, _my master_ , is particularly busied with his bookkeeping and accounting this afternoon. Have you an appointment, sir . . . ?"

"Oh, pardon me." The youth stuck his hand out. "My name is Alexander Hamilton. I don't actually have an appointment with the bursar, but please, you have to allow me in to speak with him."

"Why should I do that, sir? You have no appointment; have you any letters of recommendation? Any word from anyone giving credit to your name?"

Alexander gulped; "I have no letters of recommendation, but sir, do you know how long it took me to get here? It took several months by sea; I am from an island in the British West Indies. Our ship was constantly bombarded with bad weather and low wind. Then, I walked almost sixty miles from New York harbor the day I arrived in the States, all just to come speak to Mr. Bennington. I have no letters of credit, but my actions provide enough credit about myself."

Raddle stepped back into the office; he saw fiery determination in the eyes of this youth, and he would certainly not be the one to tell him 'no'; he would let his master do so. "Please, come in, Mr. Hamilton." Alexander was startled, having rarely had Mister placed before his surname; still, he picked up his bags and took a proffered seat in the foyer of the office; he took up his worn newspapers (presents from his generous roadside companions) for mind stimulation and read up on the upcoming war with Britain.

Raddle hadn't a good excuse when he told Mr. Bennington that he would have to see the youth in his foyer. Bennington rolled his eyes, kneaded the top of his nose, and said, waving his quill, "Fine, Raddle. Show him in." He bent his head over a letter he was working on to one of the members of the board of trustees, and even wrote a sentence or two as he added, "Let this be quick. I have actual business to attend to after this."

When Alexander parked his amazing looking self down on a chair, the bursar actually took off his spectacles, wiped them down, and then squinted for a long moment at this walking distraction that just took shape in his office.

Alexander stood back up and offered his hand. "Mr. Bennington, an honor. I'm Alexander Hamilton, sir, and I would like to attend Princeton University this coming autumn."

Bennington had an incredibly difficult time coming to terms with the fullest extent of what this long sentence meant. "You—you would like to become a student here?"

"Yes, I would. I was wondering, is there a way to complete an education that would typically take four years in less time?"

Bennington made the executive decision to give this concerning specimen all of his attention. He swept away his writing instruments and clasped his hands on the desk to study the young man sitting across from him. "You would like to complete a full education here in less than four years? That, young man, has only ever been done by one other student that I know of: a young man by the name of Aaron Burr. He graduated a few years ago at the age of sixteen. I believe he is now going to be making a mark in this revolution we are devising against Britain. He lives in Manhattan now, I believe." Bennington smiled to himself as he remembered this young man. "He was a brilliant student; quiet, and determined."

"That's it; I want to do exactly what Aaron Burr did; give me an accelerated course of study; I want to finish in two years and then join the revolution," Alexander exclaimed.

The bursar stared at him as if he had just become astonished by stupidity taking on human form. "Excuse me, young sir?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I would like to do. Now, I have come to your particular office first because I wanted to discuss financials. I come from a rather . . . merciless background. I was wondering if there were by chance any sort of scholarship to be won by show of talent and marked intelligence?" Alexander asked.

Bennington was still stuck on 'accelerated course'.

Alexander realized the unuttered insult the look on the bursar's face said to him silently. "Sir, was there no answer to my question?"

"An 'accelerated course of study'? A scholarship?" Bennington sputtered.

Alexander could feel heat coming up onto his face; he swallowed and attacked the issue head on. "I know, sir, that my requests are unusual, however—"

"Allow me one question: Have you any parents?"

Alexander stiffened. "I have none."

The bursar took a moment to sputter. Then, when he could finally speak, he said this unsavory speech: "Excuse me; allow me a moment to fully realize what you are asking of me. You have just arrived from the Caribbean with nothing but the two bags in your hands; you are an immigrant fresh off the boat, and you believe yourself intelligent enough to go through only two years of the most arduous, difficult, mind-challenging study that this nation has to offer, and then join the revolution? And you ask if there be any scholarships to be earned?"

It took all the self-control Alexander could muster (which, admittedly, wasn't a lot) to say through gritted teeth, "Yes, sir."

Bennington sat back in his chair. He wiped down his spectacles and set them back on the bridge of his nose. He pulled his papers and quill and inkpot back into their spots in front of him. He dipped his quill into the ink and began to resume his afternoon's duties. "It would appear, Mr. Hamilton, that there are no scholarships to be earned. And, seeing as you have proven yourself rather . . . frugal, when it comes to spending your own funds upon your education, I'm afraid that we have no spot here for you in this college. Not to mention, it's proprosperous to think of finishing a four years' course in two. It's easier to kill yourself at the beginning of the school year than attempt such a strenuous, arduous, almost suicidal life-course—"

Alexander's small pot of self-control had boiled down to nothing under the heat of his intense temper, and his fist seemed to be possessed by a vengeful spirit; it landed against the bursar's face, smashing both the glass of his spectacles and his atrocious nose. The man yelled in surprise and fell back, his chair smacking into the wooden floorboards.

Raddle hurried in because of the racket and almost exclaimed at the mess before him; he gave one withering look at Alexander, whose face was screwed up as he tended to his fist, and ran to his master's side. "Mr. Bennington, are you alive? Has this brute killed you?"

Bennington sat up. He'd closed his eyes when the glass broke, so the only ruin the glass did to him was a few cuts across his cheeks; he moved his back and found it still usable; he said, "No, I am not killed, Raddle. However, I would not go so far to the other end of the two extremes and say I am quite well, either." He squinted at Alexander and was about to shout him away when Alexander, luggage in his hands, said with a brief bow, "Excuse me, Mr. Bennington. Thank you for seeing me." He even gave Raddle a nod before quickly ducking out the door.

"Should I go catch him, sir? Bring him to justice? Have charges filed against him?" Raddle asked his master.

Bennington muttered to himself as he wiped at his face. "I do not even think we can. We're in New Jersey." He sighed and reached for his handkerchief, saying regrettably, "Everything is legal in New Jersey."

Outside the bursar's office, Alexander sighed, and looked at the road sign telling him that south would take him to New York City. "That is the last time I am throwing away _my_ shot," Alexander muttered to himself. He sighed, but straightened. "There is only one thing I can do now. I must find Aaron Burr. He will know what to do." Alexander glanced at the newspaper in his hand and said, "And even if I cannot find him, there's always one place that will take me. The revolution should be thrilled to have me." And he would be thrilled to join it, too.

 **I made up the names for the bursar and his assistant. I'm sure they had actual names. I couldn't find them out, though, so I just gave them names. :)**

 **Thanks for reading! Review?**


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